Still Invoking the Protector of Angels
With your newspaper folded
And set aside,
It was your last night of reading
And trying to live your life as normal.
Later that night,
You would fall twice to the floor
Trying to make it to a bedside commode,
And I knew you wouldn't leave your bed again.
After that, you lived a few more days
Uncomfortably in your bed,
Eating and drinking very little,
Gazing upward and to the wall,
Most certainly seeing angels.
On your last full day on earth,
A nurse-aide came to the house
To give you a bedside bath and it was like the lady
Who anointed Jesus with perfume for his burial;
She was very gentle and kind but there was a tear in your eye.
Aunt Maxine arrived, a planned visit,
To see her sister, your wife, after a long absence
Caused by distance and age;
This alone was sad with so much of mom already gone
With the trial of fire she's endured with her Parkinson's disease.
At 11: 00 P.M. that night,
Everyone went to bed;
I gave you medicine mixed in pudding
After telling you I had pudding for you to try.
You swallowed your pudding and told me it wasn't bad.
Even in these last few hours you had sweetness for others
But nothing left for yourself.
I woke up at 1: 30A.M.
And you were breathing heavily and strained
With your oxygen off; you were rocking and saying no
Aunt Maxine woke as well.
I reconnected your oxygen and called a nurse
To reevaluate you for pain.
The nurse arrived about an hour later
And prepared ativan and morphine
Which she gave you;
The nurse didn't seem to think you were in great pain
But the way you were holding onto your bed rail and rocking and saying no
Made me sick to my heart that you were.
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poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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